The Fabric of the Cosmos (And Other Things I Had For Lunch, Today)
by SomebodyAlreadyHasThatUserName
Summary: In which Galactus reveals to the Surfer a different version of the origin everyone knows. And it involves Milky Way bars.


Surfer, what galaxy are we in? The Milky Way? Oh, good. The other worlds can be so convoluted. Plus, I loved Milky Way bars, once upon a time. So delicious. Not as much as the actual galaxy, mind you, but the best that Terran cuisine had to offer.

What's that? No, I won't eat Earth; not right now. Don't fall off your surfboard – I have limits. Did I ever tell you about my time there? Before I became big and wobbly? I didn't come from the planet Taa – I made that up to get you to stop pestering me with foolish mortal questions. I suppose it's become the de facto tale about me, but I am too tired to change it. But someone has to know – and you are the closest thing I can torment such a story with. So sit on your board and listen – or I shall roast you in the sun.

Yes, yes, hmm hmm. My name _was_ Galen. Galen Gobright, if I remember correctly. My mother named me after the physician, but I aspired to gastronomy and agriculture instead. When you wish hard enough, you can expand out of the expectations issuing from the name picked out for you. You're the Silver Surfer, but you spend a lot of time walking instead of surfing. (Ho ho!) My mother always encouraged me to do my best, and whenever I got As at school, she would get me a large, Milky Way bar. I can still taste it.

Anyway, I didn't want to heal people's bodies, but I did want to solve their problems. In my youth, I wandered the world a great deal, particularly in Eastern Europe and Sub-Saharan Africa. What I saw shook me to my human core, which was the agonized, pleading faces of little people, whose starved and ravaged bodies made them look like the lovers of Lady Death. Their large eyes followed me out of every town and village, haunting my dreams at night and pursuing me through the wealth of the West. The feeling of being unable to help them is one of the worst, absurd human emotions mankind has ever been granted – whether by God or some Celestial. It grew to the point that I would become ill, and eat fewer and fewer meals; whether it was in sympathy to those victims or sheer anxiety, I have not allowed myself to wonder or know.

So, in my human naïveté (curse that substance called hope!), I sought education in the realm of science. I earned a Ph.D. in gastrology, and a Masters in agriculture. I studied the enzymes that permitted Man's stomach to dissolve and consume whatever he ate, as well as the genes and chemicals that permitted this to go into effect. These took long hours into the night, with those children keeping me awake. People laughed at my work, while others gently tried to let me down: it wasn't possible to completely end world hunger, they would say, but it was possible to stave it off a bit. But I was an American, and Americans have the saying, "Go largely, or return to your planet."

I'm sorry, Silver. My English has deteriorated over the years, and I can't remember the exact words. But they mean the same thing. Please understand.

Yes, I was determined to end the whole thing. I had the money. I had the brains. So obviously, I had the willpower and the way. It took several years and little social life, until I found the chromosome for enzyme P452. Most enzymes break food down, and when someone is starving, the enzymes devour the person's body. Simply introducing a person slowly to food takes too much time when there are so many hungry creatures. So I extracted a stomach cell, edited the chromosome, and implanted it into the bloodstream. These would make their way to that vast organ known as the skin, and permit the skin to absorb normally inedible items as nutrients. Why, a little girl in Albania or Kosovo could get sustenance out of mere _dirt_ or grass, if she chose so. And to sweeten the deal, I added a modified human growth hormone to the mix. Not unlike the so-called Pym Particles – except that _I_ created it first. Don't let that fool of an Ant Man tell you otherwise.

Are you still listening, Silver?

I had dreamed of people growing stronger, happier, and healthier; not unlike the race of superhuman men you see in the Terran skies. Those hungry faces would become hearty and proud. The mice, cats, and chimps – all starving when I found them – were restored to their proper shape.

I had only a little money left to complete the research. Not enough to insure any human test subjects. I knew the fatal flaw that had slain countless scientists before my time, and that was using themselves as guinea pigs. But you see, I had no other option. It was either those starving orphans, or me. My hand was forced – and I wasn't going to let others suffer if the experiment were to go wrong. So I took the biggest risk, becoming a post-modern Prometheus.

And it worked. I could eat or absorb anything within hours of applying the cells through an IV. I grew stronger in a matter of days, to the point that I could lift a Newfoundland over my head. My anxiety cleared, and my family and friends were overjoyed to see my accomplishments.

Then I grew taller.

Shot up in height and weight, to the point that I had to duck under doorways. It felt like existing in a village of hobbits. I felt extraordinarily proud, and figured that such, and my growing hunger, were simply side effects from the growth hormone. Easy to fix. Nothing to worry about, since I could eat anything to become full.

But others noticed. And by the time that puny organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D. knocked on my door, I was living in the backyard, the grass gone and the entire woods stripped of their bark. Fury had only sent a few agents after me, the fool! They were scared of me, and I was scared of them. I couldn't be taken away, and I couldn't let someone take my work and destroy it.

So I ate them. The agents, that is. They tasted like Milky Way bars, only better.

The human emotion of regret is now alien to me (ha!), but I have never felt it so hot and blistering in my soul as it did when I ate those poor creatures. I didn't feel human, and didn't realize yet that I could no longer be called such. The only thing on my mind was survival, and the need to preserve my work. But like a stinging bee marking its victim with its scent for the others to find, so had I done with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. In a matter of hours, Fury sent a man of equal height to mine, to capture me. I would have eaten him too, had he not teleported me (and himself) off of the very Earth itself.

Far into the corners of space, he took me. This Giant Man. Then he teleported away just as easily, thus leaving me to suffocate in the vast vacuum of space. At the time, I did not fear death; for it would be better to die alone and anonymous than completely grasp the pain I caused for so many.

But for some godforsaken reason, I lived. Perhaps by the power of the Watcher, or the simple adaptations of my freakish body, I survived. And I continue to this day. Survival is always first, though I no longer know what I am trying to outlive. Those dear little humans? The shame of cannibalism? Or the guilt that would have killed me at a much smaller height and weight; the guilt of never being able to accomplish my dreams, save people, and becoming as monstrous and representative as the world hunger I sought to end? I'll never know. All I know is the rage of ten billion suns, and the confidence to consume them all. It's the only thing I do well.

There. Now my story is done. Let us away, Surfer, and find another way home.


End file.
